CHAPTER 7
ARIA
The sterile hum of the laboratory buzzed softly in the background as I sifted through a fresh stack of reports, the fluorescent lights casting a cold glow over the glass and steel.
I was halfway through a summary on cortisol levels when my colleague’s voice cut through the quiet—casual, almost indifferent, but sharp enough to make me pause.
“He’s entering rut,” he said, handing me the latest DNA analysis without ceremony.
My breath caught.
My fingers trembled slightly as I accepted the data sheet, my eyes scanning the contents, though my brain seemed slow to process them.
A staggering 99.9% genetic match with humans.
I read it again.
And again.
Nearly perfect.
My heart thudded—loud, steady, unsure.
How?
The man in the containment chamber—feral, silent, always watching with those wild eyes—wasn’t supposed to be this.
The revelation was both astonishing and unsettling.
How could someone so primal, so wild, be so close to human beneath it all?
He wasn’t supposed to be one of us.
I had catalogued him like a specimen, kept emotional distance, and reminded myself of the line between subject and scientist.
But now?
Everything blurred.
My fingers gripped the edge of the report as if to ground myself.
This didn’t just challenge the science—it challenged me.
Because if he was this close to human, what did that make the strange heat in my chest when his eyes followed me?
What did it mean that I’d started memorising the curve of his smile—or that I noticed the way his breathing changed when I entered the room?
I was supposed to observe, not feel.
But how could I not feel, when he looked at me like that?
Like he saw something in me that no one else did.
Focus, I snapped inwardly, clutching the paper tighter. He was entering rut.
That was what mattered.
It meant I had to be careful.
Clinical.
Objective.
And yet, somewhere deep in my gut, I knew—something had already shifted.
The boundary wasn’t just thin now.
It was cracking.
The instructions that followed were clinical, devoid of emotion but heavy with implication.
I was to continue collecting semen samples regularly throughout his mating cycle. The duty was clear—no room for hesitation, no place for sentiment.
I felt the weight of the task settle heavily on my chest as I made my way back to the dim chamber where he was held.
The air was cooler here, the faint scent of stone and metal mixing with something darker, something alive.
But something had changed.
The wary, animal-like tension I’d grown accustomed to was gone.
No longer did he flinch at my presence, no longer did his muscles tense with a barely concealed urge to fight or flee.
Instead, as I stepped inside, his lips curled into a slow, unmistakable smile.
It was a smile that reached his eyes—warm, intelligent, and filled with something almost human.
His gaze locked onto mine as if weighing me, reading me in a way that unsettled and intrigued me at once.
The eyes that had once burned with guarded ferocity now shimmered with a quiet fire, sharp and alive.
My heart skipped, the shift in him stirring a whirlwind of emotions I couldn’t fully name.
Curiosity.
Caution.
Something deeper—a strange pull I felt in my bones.
For the first time, I wondered if this cycle would change everything between us.
Our interactions had shifted subtly at first, like the slow turning of a tide I hadn’t realised I was wading into.
The sterile boundary I once held between us had begun to blur, smudged by things unspoken.
When I handed him a cup of water, his fingers brushed mine, just for a second—but it was enough to make my pulse jump. His touch wasn’t rough or accidental.
It was deliberate.
Curious.
Like he was studying me just as closely as I’d been studying him all this time.
He angled his body toward me as I moved around the room, like a sunflower following the light. Like I was the light.
It unsettled me more than I wanted to admit.
I told myself it was just the rut—the hormonal shift influencing his behaviour, driving him to seek contact.
That was all.
That had to be all.
And yet, I caught myself mirroring him.
Leaning just a little closer.
Speaking a little softer. Holding his gaze a little longer than necessary.
My logic scrambled for footing, trying to write it all off as professional interest.
As data.
But my heart wasn’t interested in data.
The question had begun to claw its way into my thoughts with disturbing frequency:
Why does it feel like he belongs to my world? Like I’m not just studying him, but recognising him?
I was inspecting the site of an older wound—what should’ve taken weeks to heal had vanished in days, as if his body refused to stay broken.
I crouched beside him, eyes narrowed in disbelief, fingers gently probing the edge of skin now smooth and whole.
And then it happened—an innocent moment turned charged.
The hem of my lab coat caught on the corner of the chair, jerking me backwards. My balance tipped—
—and I stumbled.
Right into him.
Our bodies collided, and for one suspended heartbeat, everything held still.
His hands were on my arms, steadying me. Warm, strong.
Present.
The contact sent a jolt through my spine, not from fear—but something worse.
Something dangerously close to want.
My breath hitched, and I looked up. He was already watching me, gaze unreadable—but undeniably aware.
Something passed between us.
A flicker.
A shift.
What are you doing, Aria? a voice screamed in the back of my mind.
But my body wasn’t listening.
And neither, it seemed, was my heart.
I pitched forward with a startled gasp, the breath catching sharp in my throat as my balance gave out beneath me.
Before I could even think, my arms flew out—grabbing onto him, hands splaying across his chest.
My body collided with his, every inch of me pressing against the solid, unyielding warmth of him.
My pulse thundered in my ears.
He caught me instantly. No hesitation. His arms wrapped around me with a protective strength that sent a shiver down my spine. It wasn’t just reflex—it was instinct.
Natural.
Like his body already knew mine.
And worse... it felt right.
I froze.
Chest to chest.
Breath tangled.
His scent surrounded me—earthy, wild, intoxicating-and for one dizzying moment, I couldn’t remember why I had ever tried to keep my distance.
His hands didn’t let go.
Not right away.
One splayed across my lower back, anchoring me to him.
The other skimmed up my spine with quiet certainty, not possessive—but sure.
Like I belonged there.
My fingers curled unconsciously into his shirt. I didn’t speak.
Couldn’t.
My heart was beating too loudly, my thoughts too scrambled.
But somewhere deep inside, something primal stirred. Something ancient.
I stepped back quickly.
Too quickly.
My hands dropped away, cheeks flushed, my voice caught in my throat.
But his eyes never left me.
And mine... didn’t want to.